


I know my call despite my faults

by MrBalkanophile



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Mind Control, Painplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Underage Rape/Non-con, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBalkanophile/pseuds/MrBalkanophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of magic, Serbian druids, light and its absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I know my call despite my faults

**Author's Note:**

  * For [victor_reno](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=victor_reno).
  * Inspired by [Untitled art](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/22245) by victorreno. 



> You just need to know it's a Balkan-druids!AU (wut). You can find all the useful notes and references at the end of this story.  
> I just want to thank three girls:  
> [liz](http://www.archiveofourown.org/lisachan), because she's a perfect writer and an even greater friend; I was tempted twice to drop this _monster_ and, even if she doesn't care at all about these players, she encouraged me not to do it.  
> [kya](http://www.archiveofourown.org/waferkya), because she dealt with the proof-reading at full speed, despite the (usual) plea at short notice; it's always a pleasure and a honor to work with her.  
>  Last but not least, [victorreno](http://chatourouge.tumblr.com/). This is yours, _all_ yours. ♥

_It's empty in the valley of your heart_  
 _The sun, it rises slowly as you walk_  
 _Away from all the fears_  
 _And all the faults you've left behind_  
( _The Cave_ , Mumford & Sons)

**I KNOW MY CALL DESPITE MY FAULTS**

Marko had feared the worst since Anđelko didn't show up in the hydromancy pool: going into hiding had been necessary for the _Beli Orlovi_ as soon as their enemies captured and killed Milan, but all the members of the brotherhood had secured their lines of communication since then. If Anđelko couldn't be reached by hydromancy, he was gone.  _Eagle down. I must save the babies._

"Bad news, master?"

"We have to leave. At once." Marko looked into Đorđe's eyes, dilated and scared as those of any teen would be.  _On the run again, when will it end?_ , his face said, and Marko didn't have an answer for him. "Call the boys. Master Anđelko has been taken. We're not safe here anymore."

"Nor you would be in any other place, Pantelić." Marko turned to face a full-armored, menacing knight, as his comrades showed up and held their swords to the throats of four of the boys. "In the name of the Red Star, put your hands down. Don't try to use your magic, druid, or the kids will die."

"They're shielded. We're already shielded. Try and kill them, and you will be slain as well."

"You already know we're ready to die for our cause."

Marko grinned. "I don’t think you have a choice," he said, just to be slapped full in the face by an iron-gloved hand.

"Your insolence won't lead you anywhere, druid. If any of us dies, you won't have any Springs anymore."

"Grant me safety for the children" he gave up, showing his forefinger to the boys to ask them for silence.

"Put your hands down, first."

_Maybe there isn't a proper answer._

* * *

"So we meet again, Marko."

Marko didn't turn his gaze away from the King - once a wise and respected druid himself, before he embraced darkness - but he didn't look into the mad ruler's eyes, either; standing still and quiet, Marko smoothed his white tunic with the palm. One of the two guards at his sides forced him to kneel, pushing him with both hands and swearing a couple of times.

"Enough, boys, enough," the King said, somewhat delighted. "So, little Marko, you're the leader now."

"There's no leader among the _Beli Orlovi_. The eagles fly toward the sun. You knew it, once... master Zvezdan."

The King whistled. "Zvezdan's just a name, and names have no power anymore... they never had. King would be enough, dear friend, for I am the King of the Red Star, and soon, of the whole country."

"I don't recognize traitors on this land." The guard smacked Marko in his face, breaking his lip, his mouth filling with the dreadful, rusty taste of blood. "Or kings," he insisted, just to receive another punch, this time in his ribs.

"Oh, I see. Are you going to resist me like those companions of yours who didn't submit to my cause?" The King widened his hands, a mad light in his eyes. "They have been such a gratifying meal for ravens, you know. Ognjen, Predrag, Dragoslav, Milan." He grinned viciously, as every name fueled powerless rage in Marko's blood. "Anđelko."

"May their souls find peace," Marko whispered, unexpectedly, clinging on the last thread of hope, ignoring the triumphant aura of his former master.

" _And the ones I didn't mention yet_?... right, Marko?" He said, looking at the prisoner's pale face, the flowers almost dried on his head. "I know everything, little druid, everything but the place of hiding of those who insist to oppose me. And, one at the time, I'm going to find you all. There are just a few of you still on the run by now."

The King got up of his throne, walking down the low steps of the room. "Branislav, won't you greet your dear friend?"

Marko turned around, terrified, looking for his companion. The knight who hit him removed his helm, and Marko opened his eyes wide by seeing the knight's face. "It... can't..."

"It can.  _I can_. I looked into his soul, and now it's mine forever."

" _Bane_!" Marko shouted, shaking the man beside him by the shoulders, just to be hit again by him: the strong blow cracked one rib - maybe two. Marko collapsed to the floor, groaning. "Why did... why..."

"Do you understand now,  _master Marko_?" The King laughed again - a deranged, yet conscious laughter. "Those who don't surrender to me, die: there's no magic you can use against the one who taught you magic itself, no retaliation you can evoke on the Springs I cannot break. Your art is useless against me." He walked briefly around Marko, looking at the flower crown, one of the symbols of his magical heritage: with an anxious gesture, he threw it out, tearing it apart. "And when a druid dies, his Springs are not protected anymore... they're vulnerable. I sack their magic, I thrive on their fears, I break the purity of their souls for good. I'm sure you want to know that I gifted Anđelko's apprentices to my soldiers: they enjoyed my generous donation... as long as they lasted."

Magic flew through Marko's flesh, faster than blood and hotter than lava, a stormy wave barely dominated by ten years of training and experience. "What's the other option?" he whispered, struggling to keep the words from clashing against his gritting teeth.

"Oh, that's quite more reasonable than anything most of your companions said, you know." The King approached him, whispering directly into Marko's ear - Branislav and the other knight turning just two steps from them. "You can surrender your magic to me. I didn't forget how to cast a Sacred Vow: your precious kids would be safe and unharmed, free to live their lives in any city of my empire, untouched by danger."

"Without druid magic."

"Without druid magic," the King agreed. "Shielded against any other incantation, for I am the strongest of the druids now, and more protected than they would be with  _your_ Sacred Vow. Your spell would fade, and ultimately dissolve with your death... mine wouldn't." He stepped back once, looking at Marko indignantly. "Give me your answer, druid. Now."

Marko hung his head. "Here it is," he whispered. As soon as he raised his eyes, an ethereal flash of light - an intangible spear, as shining as the sun at its highest - departed from Marko's face, faster than a dart, flying straight through the short space between him and his enemy. And, as quickly as the magical weapon was conjured, it disappeared at the simplest of the gesture, as the King would have driven an insect away.

"I heard and accepted your answer, Marko," the King said, conjuring a complex spell on his own: Marko felt an incredible pressure on his shoulders, forcing him to collapse to the ground, on his hands and knees. He looked for the magic inside him and cried: a barrier, a concrete wall stronger and heavier than steel or lead, was shutting in the core of pure light from which he always tapped from. Marko couldn't conjure any spell, neither for offense nor defense. Nor self-destruction.

And the invisible weight forcing him on all fours persisted.

"Now you can fully understand my powers." It wasn't a question, this time. "Just, it's too late."

"I... won't..." Marko groaned, as the self proclaimed ruler's invisible, yet unstoppable magic acted on him like he was a puppet: his whole body was pushed against the floor, heavier than the great rocks of druidic altars, and even raising his gaze towards the King required all of his strength. "I won't give up, Zvezdan."

"You will in minutes."

Marko couldn't understand why his enemy's grin widened until two of his guards approached him: one of them grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head to tilt and his nerves to shake in pain, and tugged him to the other side of the room, while the second soldier tied Marko's feet to two translucent, metallic pillars, almost as high as the ceiling. The pressure onto Marko's shoulders lowered enough to allow the soldiers to tie Marko's arms to those pillars as well: the druid tried to call his magic all along, but without its support, he was just a defenseless man, weaker than any of the King's guards.

Then, a soldier unsheathed his sword and laid it onto Marko's neck, just below his Adam's apple, and the King approached him again, putting two fingers against Marko's lips.

"You should have surrendered to me when you had the chance," he hissed, and thrusted the fingers inside Marko's mouth, playing with his tongue like a lover would have done, shoving them down to his throat, and preventing Marko to retaliate with a bite by keeping his jaw still with magic; Marko tried at least to spit them out, choking at every movement, in vain. After a few minutes, the King slowly pulled his fingers out of his mouth, his grin wider and madder than ever. "This is the life you chose. And, for the Gods, I will bestow it upon you, as you wished." The soldier's sword lowered, ripping the snow white cotton fibers of Marko's tunic with ease, shredding it again and again until rags piled up at his feet and he was left naked to their eyes.

"Time to enjoy some unknown benefits of your life," the King claimed triumphantly: he approached to Marko's back and spread his cheeks, ignoring his screams and pleas and the magic wave that suddenly erupted from his body and knocked down all the unshielded soldiers in the room, but not him. The King shoved the already wet fingers inside Marko, managing to get out from him the sounds he liked the most: he enjoyed every single painful cry, thrusting his fingers as down as he could, until Marko's body betrayed his owner and, through his disgust for what was happening, his cock slowly raised, clutched into the cold grasp of his enemy's hand. Harmless and trapped, divided between the unquenchable pain of the fingers scratching his hole and the undesired pleasure of the other hand masturbating him, Marko felt his inner light was fading, hidden by a vacuum scarier than darkness. Spasms flew and shaked his hips while he came, spilling his seed on the King's fist and the floor, and loathing finally prevailed when he saw the dark druid licking every drop of it, as a man lost in a desert would have done with water.

And still, Marko's humiliation wasn't ended yet.

The King spread his cheeks again, rubbing a moistened finger against the delicate skin, now softened and reddened. Marko couldn't see him anymore, but he could figure what he would have done now: and he understood why his companions killed themselves when they still had the chance, when they still had power, because no one among the _Beli Orlovi_ could live without access to magic, but surviving without his integrity was an even less acceptable thought. He cried for mercy, feeling so close to the bottom of his own despair he could almost drown into it, and he regretted doing it almost instantly.

Then the King slammed his cock inside him, without any preparation or warning, and Marko couldn't help but crying and barfing, insensible to the growing pain and any other feeling but disgust. He passed out soon after he felt the mad druid coming inside him, every thrust so close to tearing him apart; Marko's last thought before the dark was his desire to die, as far as possible from Zvezdan.

* * *

"I brought you some clothes."

Marko looked up to the newcomer: a guard brought him some uneatable dinner at least one, maybe even two hours after the King raped him a second and then a third time, and he didn't expect any visits after he threw the plate against the previous soldier. Actually, the new one could speak, at least.

He took and unfolded the bundle that the man behind the bars was handing out to him. "Thanks," he replied, unwillingly.

"I'm Dejan. I was the one who tied you to the columns."

Marko snorted. "Well, I'm not thanking you for that."

"I know, I was under his spell. The King, you know."

"You were?" Dejan nodded slowly, and Marko holded his gaze on him for a while: he didn't wear any heavy armor under the rich-red cape: just plain clothes and some leather protections, similar to the ones Marko tucked inside the bundle... together with a kitchen knife. "Are you free, now?"

"You broke the spell, somehow."

"Well, I'm sorry if I don't believe you. What's my gain if you're luring me into a trap of your precious King?"

"And what's your gain if you stay here at his mercy?" Dejan's grin was somewhat practical, as if he had forecasted all of Marko's objections. "I don't respect any king. You could try to kill me, or even kill yourself, but your Springs would be doomed in any case. You must run away, Pantelić."

"I can't leave them here."

"You can. They are protected as long as you live: even that scum can't break a Sacred Vow, his magic is your magic." Marko glanced at him and Dejan nodded in reassurance. "I know. I heard him. I saw the druids dying at his hands, and I heard them too. I'm ashamed I couldn't help them, but... now I can. And you can, too."

Suddenly, tears flew from the druid's eyes.

"You don't understand." Marko sat down again, as a desperate laughter burst from his throat as he kept crying, and embraced his knees. "Integrity is everything for druids' magic. The flower crowns on our heads, the shining white of our tunics, the simplicity of our customs... they aren't just symbols. They  _are_  druids' magic. I can't just pretend he didn't... do those things to me, not even if I wanted to: I tried to cast even the simplest of spells, and I failed. So you're wrong, we're both wrong, and Sacred Vows can be broken, and he did with mine. And I have been condemned to be the most useless of druids, a toy for the twisted sexual pleasure of the insane ruler of the world." Marko rubbed his forearm against his eyes, wiping them from tears with his own skin. "I'm glad his incantation on you went away, if it has really been by my hand, but my life isn't useful as yours at the moment. Run away from here, leave the country with my blessing, and don't even try to look back."

Dejan stayed quiet for a while. "There won't be another chance to escape."

"So be it. You can't figure how I feel right now. I'd rather use this knife on myself."

They looked into each other's eyes and fears, Marko's shattered determination versus Dejan's renewed desire to live. Dejan knelt down and started scratching the blade of his knife into the old lock of Marko's prison.

"What are you even doing now?"

"He won't sleep forever, he often wakes up in the middle of the night. And for the true meaning of the Red Star and whatever you believed in just a day ago, I won't let you and your magical siblings fester here one rape after another. Druids are called to save innocent people, aren't they?" Dejan grinned at Marko's silent, displeased look. "If you don't want to save yourself or the children, you should save me from the King's rage."

"I'm not a druid anymore."

"If you believe you're not a druid anymore, it's because he's powerful enough to make you believe so." The knife blade bended on the right side, completely unusable. "Tell me you have some magical shenanigans to open this up."

Marko snorted. "Maybe there were some." He waved a hand toward the lock, almost impatient into his gesture, and Dejan tried and shook the prison door. "See? No magic."

"Maybe you should get closer, if you don't find the very idea to approach me so disgusting." He grinned at Marko's unwilling smile. "It wasn't even a try worth of its name."

"Shut up." In spite of his words, Marko dragged himself to the door. "I'm powerless. Go away or else..." And it was easy for Dejan to push the opened door and knock Marko down, making him collapse to the ground.

"Your chatter wore me out ages ago, we should have already been out of this mess." Without too many compliments, he picked up Marko's naked, unconscious body on his shoulders. "Gods, he looked lighter," he panted, walking stepwise to bring both of them outside the ancient Red Star fortress; he crossed some other guards' ways, but he winked at them and they nodded, believing the battered and dirty druid was dead - an usual circumstance. No one of them would have doubted of Dejan Stanković's allegiance.

* * *

Marko woke up to the warmth of the sun and the chirping of a small nutcracker who gently brushed his lips with his little wings: bewildered by the bird's behaviour, he tried to get up, but an intense, shocking wave of pain went through his body, and he remembered everything until Dejan's surprise attack. Marko brushed his hand against the aching ribs, just to find his chest covered with a rich-red cape and cleverly bandaged with stripes of ripped cloth from the same garment; he had trousers on, too, and even if his backside was still sore, he felt somewhat better. 

Cautiously, he leant against the massive tree towering on him, managing somehow to get up, and he tried to walk at snail pace around it, trying to perceive the power of the nature flowing from its roots to its highest leafs. He couldn't. He could just feel the immense desire to live of the tree, and he envied it.

A splashing sound clearly reverberated through the trees, all of a sudden, and Marko walked toward the source of it, following his desire of fresh water which he could drink and wash himself with. He didn't think about Dejan, not even for a second, until he saw him in the middle of the creek flowing not far from the edge of the forest where he was.

Dejan had left his clothes, apart from the cape he had given to Marko, on the little shore on Marko's side, and he was refreshing himself with clear relief: water drops sparkled among his slightly thin hair - no doubt he would have become bald in less than five or ten years - and onto his shoulders, sturdy and stretched. Without any clear justification, Marko found himself smiling. And Dejan did, too.

He swam toward the river until the water was chest-deep - he was hairier, definitely more hairy than anyone in Marko's lineage or among the people he had seen shirtless - so he could talk to him without shouting to the whole forest. "You look like you have seen something pleasant."

Marko made a gesture with both hands, trying to hug the air. "I did," he said. "This forest, this stream..." but his voice trembled, and his cheeks reddened, and he couldn't say the last item of his list. "I still feel like I was heavily battered, and I did, but I feel almost... rejuvenated."

"I hoped so. This is a sacred sanctuary."

"How did..." Marko looked at him with suspicion. "You're not a druid. You can't know."

"I'm not. But Siniša was."

Marko's lips curved in an almost perfect circle. "How do you know Siniša? He has been... he wasn't just a druid. He was  _powerful_. Predrag and Dragoslav said he was among the first druids to fall."

"Traitors of the Red Star ambushed us. I was spared, because I surrendered and tried to keep Sini alive, and the King casted his spell of obedience on me. But then he killed him anyway. He had no one to protect anymore, and there was no one to protect him as well."

Marko could feel his suffering like a surge of energy through his own body, with no goal but echoing with a terrible sound inside his head. He moaned in pain, and Dejan's face took on a worried expression. "Were you... lovers?"

Dejan didn't reply, not with his voice: he just nodded to the water, which was caressing his hips like the lavish fabric of his cape.

"I'm sorry," he sincerely said, tears filling his eyes all of a sudden. "It wasn't your fault if he fell to the King's hands."

"I know. I tormented myself for the last two years, I understood that he would have died in any case just hours ago, when you lifted the spell... at least I'm still here to avenge his memory. So you know why I wanted you to escape from the King's grasp at any cost."

Marko nodded, blushing again as shame filled his heart, his tone lowered to a whisper. "You hit me with the door." 

"You have a bruise on your forehead. It isn't quite nice to look at, but I bet it isn't that hurtful."

"You were right," he nodded, "I'm sorry."

Dejan gestured at water behind him. "I'm sure you would like a bath," he winked, walking toward the shore and exposing himself to Marko's eyes.

"Don't..." Marko swallowed once, twice, before trying to speak to Dejan again. " _Don't go away._ "

Dejan stood still where he was, wary of Marko's uncertain steps: the druid approached him, feeling the warmth of his body even with clothes still on, even if he was definitely wet by chilly water. Marko moved his fingers along his neck, through his hair, and he kissed Dejan on the lips, pushing himself toward him as he was clinging to him to save their lives. "Thank you," he just whispered, trying to back up, but Dejan kissed him in turn and, for Gods, for the white eagle, for everyone and everything he cared for, but  _that_  was a good way to die, melting under hands and fingers that cared for him, burning after pleasure without pain. Just, he wasn't dying at all. Dejan helped Marko undress himself, enter the river, lay down on him and enjoy the gentle touch of water and wind, waiting for the right moment for the two of them by kissing and kissing again.

And then Dejan put his hands on Marko's hips, making the druid's erected cock brush against his own, as slowly as he could to both make him enjoy every bit of it and not stir up the pain from the previous night. He just kept their waists so close to each other to make the friction something Marko couldn't even explain. He came, he came way harder than the previous night, because nothing but sensual hands were forcing him to pleasure, because he was having sex with a man whom he wanted back, because looking at the somewhat thoughtful look on Dejan's face while he was approaching to his own orgasm was something he could even fall in love with. 

His core, once filled with the light Marko always relied on, was still dull and colourless, impossible to use to tap into magic. For the first time in his whole life, Marko didn't care about that.

"What about your  _integrity_  now?" Dejan said, smiling and pretending to do that innocently.

"Shut up. It has been... a gift. It's different."

"I know."

"You have a plan," Marko whispered, chasing Dejan's tongue in a luscious kiss.

"I don't. But Sini has always tapped into magic, even when I was his lover. He even grew stronger. So I bet the source of your power isn't related to anything I can do to your body."

"You have plans about my body."

"Several," Dejan admitted, not a single bit of shame on his face. "And if we survive, I swear I'll spend the rest of my life to put them into practice. With your permission, and whenever you'll be ready to."

Marko let go a laughter - a free, pure laughter against Dejan's shoulder, hidden into his hug, to be known by just the two of them and the stream behind them. "Challenge accepted. We won't see our next dawn, but it's an alluring prize to compete for."

* * *

They managed to hide themselves for longer than Marko hoped at the beginning: enough time to heal his heart and fade his bruises, enough time to draw up plans and discard them with Dejan, one after the other. Dejan told him about Siniša's death at the King's hands, too, even if they never talked again about that moment after the first day of their worthless escape.

Moreover, he had been able to know Dejan and look into his soul, by listening to his furious heartbeats at night: saving the Springs from the King's grasp, rescuing the boys Marko raised as his own sons, was still the priority of his life; but he was aware enough of the instant strength of the bond that tied him to Dejan, and he was somewhat scared by it.

Marko was sure that Dejan knew about the soul link between a druid and the guardians he chose, as Dejan admitted he loved Siniša and had more knowledge about most of the druids' magic - more than the lesser druids, actually. He was right about Marko's magic, too: the core inside him had started to glow faintly since they had sex on the lake shore, one night; the strong, scorching feelings that overwhelmed Marko when Dejan's cock slowly slid inside him erased painful memories, at least for a while, enough to make Marko beg him, throwing his own arms around Dejan's neck and asking for harder thrusts and longer kisses. Magic flew through him again as pleasure did, as Dejan came inside him: and in that very moment a bed of dormant saffrons and gerberas suddenly blossomed around them, and a wave from the lake spilled pure water under their bodies, making them laugh. It was a precious memory. 

Marko wanted to keep the memories of the last days forever. So, when he noticed the air felt as if it had frozen, a thrill run through his body, and he hoped Dejan stayed away from him for as much as possible.

A group of soldiers - Branislav was open-face, without his helm, in the first line - marched towards him, the vanguard of the Red Star in full arms: a gesture and some words from Marko, and Dejan cutting some ropes in the bushes, and earth trembled a little, liquefied, and swallowed the whole army in a couple of seconds, leaving them at thirty feet from the surface... at least, the whole army but one.

The King raised his arms and levitated from the field, escaping the hole under the wire, and grinned at him threateningly. "Cheap tricks won't stop me, little Marko."

"They already do." A translucent shell surrounded the dark druid as soon as he rested on the ground, requiring most of his magical strength to shatter it, and the flaming arrow he casted a second later was deflected by Marko. Pure magic against pure magic, without any people to protect or attack but the two of them.

"You will die, Marko. You will die as your precious Springs died." A clank crashed into his back, and Dejan was thrown feet away from him, his short sword broken into half. "And as this traitor, too."

"Dejan!"

"I'm sorry. I hoped I could..."

"I should have killed you years ago, with Siniša. I never spared my enemies' lives but yours." A smoke barrier erupted between the King and Marko, covering the druid's sight and leaving just Dejan against him. "I can make mistakes too, it seems. But I will fix this one."

Dejan crawled toward the two halves of his knife, slowly. "Eat shit and die, you scum."

The King grinned at his insult. "Say hello to your beloved Sini for me," he said, a sparkling cloud inside his fist, but a bright, much shining light than his thunder's, drilled through the smoke curtain and severed his right hand from the body. A horrible scream gurgled from the King's throat, and he turned to Marko, seeking for instant revenge, but he didn't even manage to think at one among the deadly spells he learnt in his darkest months: Dejan threw the sharpened forepart of the broken sword, tearing the skin of his palm from doing so but piercing the King's chest from side to side.

Incantations flew from the dark druid's healthy hand without any control, but Marko shielded both him and Dejan from them, until the King was near to his last breath. In that moment, Marko approached to his bleeding corpse, whispering his last spell against his enemy.

"Say amends to your victims, Zvezdan. Join them and be cursed forever."

The King spat a blooded lump at Marko's face, his left hand raised in a menacing gesture, but life left his eyes and breath, and he was dead for good. And so were his soldiers in the trap: as they weren't supported anymore by the dark magic which subdued them, they shared their King's fate. Marko's eyes filled with tears, as his childhood friend burned into ashes under his gaze, and yet, he was looking at him gratefully, happier to die rather than to serve under the most wicked man in their country.

Marko cried for a long time, Dejan's arms wrapped around him, his voice whispering comforting words the last link from him to reality.

"We have one last thing to do," Dejan murmured against his ear, when Marko looked slightly more soothed. "Your boys. They're still in the castle. I don't know how much of the King's magic permeated that place." Terror sparked into Marko's eyes. "They're safe. You're still alive, the Vow is on."

"You're injured."

"It's just-"

"It's not  _just a scratch_. You cut your tendon by grabbing the sword. You could..." Marko bit his lower lip, as he wanted to start crying again, while bandaging the wound and using magic upon it. "You could not be able to use your hand. For a while. Or more. I don't know."

"I can use both hands for a sword." Dejan raised his left to Marko's chin, lowering him enough to kiss him. "And more."

Marko surrendered briefly to his lips, to the rough taste of his tongue, a bit rusty compared with the one he remembered. "You are my guardian."

"I am."

"You know what I mean, don't you?"

Dejan nodded, and kissed him again. "I can survive with this weight, _Master Marko_. I'm quite sure you won't go questing treasures or fighting dragons for the rest of your life."

Marko laughed for a moment, a precious moment for his memories, and then he wore Dejan's red cape onto his tunic, setting out with him for Beograd.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> \- _Beli Orlovi_ (White Eagles) is the most popular nickname for the Serbian National football team (Serbian NT). The _Red Star_ is _Crvena Zvezda_ , one of the two most important football teams in Belgrade (along with FK Partizan): Stanković, Pantelić and Mihajlović all played both in Serbian NT and Red Star Belgrade.
> 
> \- The druids fallen before Marko are former players of Serbian NT: Ognjen Koroman, Predrag Đorđević, Dragoslav Jevrić, Milan Dudić, Anđelko Đuričić, Branislav (Bane) Ivanović, Siniša Mihajlović.
> 
> \- Although the initial reference for the main villain was Terzić, former Serbia & Montenegro FA administrator, Zvedzan's characterization has been totally changed: I kept his name because of _Crvena Zvezda_.
> 
> \- I got inspiration from [this fan art](http://chatourouge.tumblr.com/post/11054709377); the artist, obviously, knows about this fic.
> 
> \- Zvezdan's castle is vaguely influenced by _Beogradska tvrđava_ (Belgrade Fortress), while Mihajlović's secret oasis resembles the former marshy island of _Ada Ciganlija_ , now the most popular recreational zone in Belgrade.


End file.
